


Spooky

by TheBrilliantBrunette



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Cute, Dr. Frederick Chilton Being an Asshole, F/M, Fictober 2019, Fluff, Spooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 23:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20882285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBrilliantBrunette/pseuds/TheBrilliantBrunette
Summary: Chilton likes that you're getting into the Spooky Season Spirit





	Spooky

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my first Chilton fic (outside of a collab back in 2017) but I absolutely love this character and really wanna start writing him more now that it's almost five years too late, lol! 
> 
> Anyway, make sure to leave kudos and comments down below, I hope you enjoy!

Sometimes, you really questioned your career choices.   
In college, when you imagined being a forensic psychologist, you imagined something more like Halloween, where you were Dr. Loomis. You pictured yourself running around, solving crimes and catching the world’s most dangerous, all the while getting to crawl around inside their minds- seeing what makes them tick and lose control.   
What you got instead was much less exciting.   
Instead of being like Dr. Loomis, you were more like one of the orderlies that Michael Myers kills within the first ten minutes of escaping the asylum.   
You didn’t know if it was because you were a woman in a male dominated environment or because you had just grossly overestimated the role a forensic psychologist plays in the real world, but you often found yourself relegated to the benches. The absolute wanker that ran the hospital, Dr. Frederick Chilton, never gave you any of the good cases.   
In fact, he never gave ANYONE the good cases. Rather he just took them for himself, not bothering with anything that didn’t peak his interest and refusing to share anything that did.   
He was a selfish, pompous, arrogant, pain in the ass, and you hated him more than anyone else you had ever met (and yes, that included some of the serial killers you’d interacted with).   
All you wanted to do was finish up your paperwork and head home, maybe start looking for a new job on the other side of the country, or an entirely new one, while you were at it.   
You clicked the “print all” button on your computer and quickly hurried over to the machine at the end of the room where you grabbed the stack of patient reports that were being printed out, threw them into a manilla folder, and began making your way from your office, up to that of the infamous Dr. Chilton. While in the elevator you flipped through the folder, scanning the pages and checking for any errors they might have that the Good Doctor might ride your ass for.   
The cases, as said before, held nothing interesting.   
A prisoner from Baltimore Max that seemed to suffer a mental breakdown. A man who killed his wife and claimed that the Devil told him he needed to, it was an obvious lie and you suspected he’d be out of BSHCI before the end of the week. And finally, the piece-de-resistance, a man cops had picked up off the streets for public masturbation who kept talking to an imaginary figure in the corner of his room who he claimed was the Virgin Mary wanting him to get her pregnant because he was supposedly the reincarnation of God on Earth.   
The last one was actually one of the more unique cases you’d been assigned, but it was nothing more than one could expect to see at a subway station in New York.   
You finally reached Chilton’s office door and knocked twice before a “come in,” from inside let you know that it was safe to open the door and proceed.   
“I have the patient reports from today, Doctor,” you said, taking a few steps into the room.   
Chilton turned up from his computer to look at you, his green eyes boring holes into your soul and gave you the feeling that he could somehow read your mind.   
For all his faults, you at least had to give him the fact that he was good looking.   
“What on Earth are you wearing?” Chilton asked you accusingly.   
You turned down to look at your, fairly unremarkable, outfit, one that you had worn all day, and many other days, without issue you might add.   
“No, not that,” Chilton interrupted, “those things in your ears.”   
Self consciously you touched the dangling skeleton earrings you’d bought on a whim one night while scrolling through Amazon.   
“Their just earrings sir,” you said, “last I checked we were allowed to wear those when we work minimum security patients 24/7.”   
Chilton’s eyes went a little wide at the unexpected snarky remark you’d given him. In your almost one year of working at BSHCI you’d never spoken to anyone like that, especially not him.   
You realized what you’d said just a moment after you’d said it and began stumbling over your words trying to apologize.   
“I-I’m sorry sir, it’s been a long day,” you said, your cheeks blushing bright red as you walked over and deposited the file onto his desk, “I promise you it won’t happen again, have a good night.”   
You turned and hurriedly made your way towards the door, desperate to leave before you made yourself look like anymore of a bitch than you already had.   
“(Y/L/N),” Chilton’s voice stopped you right in your tracks, just as your hand made contact with the door knob to freedom, you turned back around to meet your boss’ gaze with your own.   
“Yes, sir?” you said.   
“I like them,” Chilton said, something that might of resembled a smirk gracing his face.   
“Sir?” you said again, a little confused.   
“The...skeletons,” he said, gesturing to his own ears as he spoke, “they look very...spooky.”   
You would have laughed at that had you not been in shock from the notoriously serious doctor giving you a compliment.   
You swallowed, “thank you, Doctor” you said, “I agree, they are quite spooky, perfect for this time of year.”   
Chilton smiled at you for a brief moment you thought you saw a spark of...something twinkle in his eyes.   
“You can call me Frederick, y’know?” he said.   
You swallowed, your stomach in a Gordian knot and your heart doing backflips in your chest.   
“Thank you, Frederick,” you said, “have a good night.”   
It wasn’t until you were out of the BSHCI building entirely and in your car that you let out your first real breath. The conversation playing itself over and over again in your mind. You couldn’t deny that there was definitely some kinda feeling there.   
Had Frederick Chilton, THE Frederick Chilton, just...complimented you?  
And had you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), actually liked it!


End file.
